Inside His Mind
by damonandelenaforthewin
Summary: A collection of One-Shots that reveal Damon's thoughts and emotions from his POV, beginning with episode 1x21. Might go back to do earlier episodes. used to be called "inside my head."
1. Isobel: Post Classroom Scene

Damon grimaced as he let the memory play back in his head. It had only been an hour ago, and it had only been a ten-minute conversation, but the second he'd left Alaric Saltzman's classroom, the realization of what he had said had hit him full-force, and ever since then he'd been over analyzing his every move, his every word, his every intention, letting the words burn themselves into his mind.

"_You don't have to see her if you don't want to." _

The words had left his mouth before he'd even had time to consider the impact they might have on the room.

He recalled that when Stefan had been held captive by Pearl's renegade mob of misfit tomb vamps, he'd been just as protective of Elena, if not more so.

"_You are not going in there. I can't protect you, Elena."_

And he had noted how the teacher's eyes had shifted towards him, full of questions.

Despite their recent camaraderie, to Alaric, he was nothing but the soulless monster who had seduced his wife into a life of vampirism; to Alaric, he was a creature that cared about nothing and no one but himself and his petty desires. Alaric's eyes has said, Why do you care? Why do you care if you can't protect Elena? What is she to _you_?

But Damon had had an excuse in that instance. Bodily harm to Elena meant _explaining _a body- and with a council of wanna-be vampire hunters on the prowl, equipped with their very own John "I-can't-die-because-I-have-a-ring" Gilbert, it made sense (from a selfish perspective) that Damon would want to keep the body count low. Damon Salvatore could not be inconvenienced with a pesky stake to the chest if he was found out.

But this- _this instance_- this slip of his own goddamned tongue- could not be so easily manipulated to fit his own agenda. He had revealed that he actually cared for- _God _help him- her _feelings. _And maybe he'd insinuated he felt such concern before- if her still being alive counted as such- but he'd never outright _said it. _

"_You don't have to see her if you don't want to."_

God, how could he be so _stupid_? What was _wrong_ with him? Stefan had noticed. Stefan knew something was up, of that much, Damon was sure. The only person in that room who hadn't perceived his genuine concern as odd was Elena herself, and he didn't know if that was for the better or worse.

She wasn't a stupid girl- far from it. So did that mean that she considered those words normal for him? Had she grown _that _comfortable around him? Once again, he knew not whether that was good or bad. On the one hand, what was left of his un-beating heart seemed to expand at the thought of Elena Gilbert being comfortable around him- but on the other, he wondered, had he really gone so soft as for her to see that she _could _be that comfortable? Had he really let her in enough times for her to _trust_ him?

And then there was the question that bothered Damon the most- more than the fact that he'd let his "self-serving psychopath" façade slip- the fact that, if questioned as to _why_ he cared, _he_ didn't even have an answer. He had no idea why he gave a damn if Elena Gilbert lived or died, let alone why he cared if she didn't want to _rendezvous_ with her estranged _mommy. _He honestly had no answer- not even a cheeky, sarcastic placeholder that he could offer up to Stefan in place of the truth, if pressed- as to why, in the past 145 years, Elena Gilbert was the first thing that had mattered to him besides himself, and Katherine. He just knew that she _did _matter.

He just knew that Elena hurt, or Elena afraid, or Elena sad- hell, even just Elena made _uncomfortable_- filled him with an overwhelming urge to _make it better_. To put his arms around her shoulders and pet her hair and pick her up and take her away to somewhere she didn't have to feel pain, just like when he'd swooped her off the pavement when she'd wrecked her car.

More memories flooded Damon's mind: brushing the strands of hair from her tear-soaked face; whispering that everything would be okay; watching her sleep as he drove down the interstate towards Georgia_. Oh, how priceless her reaction had been when she found out we weren't in Mystic Falls anymore_, he reminisced.

Damon shook his head, as if the movement could erase his feelings, and poured himself another glass of bourbon as he stared into the fire in the sunken living room of the boarding house.

Damon Salvatore didn't know what the hell was wrong with him, or what would happen if someone else found out before he did. He had no idea how he'd gone from the dark knight to the white hat in sixty seconds flat, or what he was going to do about it. But he suspected that the answers he needed would be clear to him once he figured out how he truly felt about Elena Gilbert…because whatever he was feeling now, had to _stop_. It couldn't grow into something he couldn't control, something these humans called…_love._

_But then again, he also suspected...that it already __had__._


	2. Isobel: Post Stefan Confrontation

Damon Salvatore continued up the stairs towards his room, leaving Stefan to brood in the living room. His words may had taken shape in the form of denials_- "Elena is a very good friend. In fact, she may qualify as my only…friend"_ but Damon knew that inflection was everything. And the only possible meaning Stefan could have derived from his 'denial', was that Isobel had, in fact, been right.

Before, Damon had been, well, _scared. _Not scared of Stefan- that thought was laughable- but scared that he had these emotions for Elena. But now that it was out in the open, there really wasn't anywhere to run. He embraced the revelation, neither quite denying or verifying Isobel's claim. It felt good to have a name for what had been growing in his chest for what seemed like years- and it felt _even better _to have something to taunt Stefan with again. He could practically _smell _Stefan's insecurity; and he'd seen the look on his face the moment they'd both heard the words.

"_Because he's in love with you."_

Stefan could have, _should have_, reacted two different ways: either confusion and disbelief, or anger and indignation. But Stefan…Stefan looked like he'd already _known. _He'd looked like a man that had known for quite some time, and had already accepted it as a fact he could not disprove. Even his futile attempts to intimidate Damon had seemed…lacking. Lacking passion, lacking fire. When Damon had defended Elena against Isobel, warning the woman he'd made immortal to _stay away_, he'd made sure he'd sent a message. But Stefan's warning…was almost making him look like he'd already given up.

_Which really would be a shame_, Damon thought snarkily, opening the door to his bedroom and slamming it behind him_. If Stefan's already given up, then it's hardly a fair fight_.

A tiny part of Damon whimpered back at his cruel thoughts towards his brother, silently reminding him that Elena was not a game, not just a pawn with which he could torture Stefan with, but that the feelings were real. But the rest of Damon retaliated. Sure, he loved her….was in love with her. Sure, he would protect her against anyone and anything, and maybe everybody knew that…but, whatever. He could still lie to himself, couldn't he? He could still make this look like he would only be going after Elena, because Stefan had stolen Katherine's affections from him, all those years ago.

In reality, he hoped the bitch fried in hell for everything she'd put him through, and everything she was putting Elena through now- because the whole John Gilbert/Isobel mess was really due to Katherine, anyhow. But no one else needed to know how he really felt about Katherine, now. The only people who had known his true disdain for his former lover were Pearl, Anna, and now Isobel; and with Pearl dead, Isobel gone from town, and Anna _hardly _friendly with Stefan or Elena, he seemed to be in the clear_. _

_No one ever has to know this isn't just some twisted revenge game. _

Or at least, that's what he told himself.


	3. Founder's Day: Post Kiss

His hands found their way to his lips, wiping off the traces of her kiss. His head turned, throwing a confused, pained look over his shoulder; but there was nothing left to see. Damon Salvatore had no idea what had just happened.

He knew the physics of it, yeah: Elena Gilbert had just kissed him. Or, more accurately, had let him kiss her. He'd started out tentatively, carefully- seeing how far she was going to let him go. Seeing where their moment was going to go.

He'd started this pursuit for Elena certain it was just going to be a revenge game- he wasn't actually going to let himself _feel. _She was just a little Katherine doppelganger, right? Even though the last thing he ever wanted to do was kiss Katherine Pierce again- but over the events of the night, something had changed. Something had nudged what was left of his soul, deep within the confines of what he assumed was his heart.

Maybe it had been watching Anna die, and not being able to stop it. Maybe it had been almost dying himself. But that didn't explain his earlier actions- thanking the witch, defending Elena to Jeremy…not to mention the heart-to-heart he'd just had with the boy. But either way, something had definitely changed. Changed so much that it could no longer be denied, no longer be hidden.

Sow why, as he walked towards home in the dark of night, did Damon not feel _elated _that Elena had kissed him? _I should be bouncing off the walls, with my ego puffed up ten times its normal size_, he thought. But instead he felt…dirty. Why did he feel dirty? Why did the memory of their kiss seem to be tainted? And _why _had she tensed up when he'd kissed her cheek- almost in disgust- and yet had no problem with him sticking his tongue in her mouth?

And then, after they'd been caught- which seemed like it had been months ago, but had actually only been mere moments- she had just looked up at Jenna, with no remorse. Like Jenna was an annoyance; irrelevant. Not like she was a teenage girl being caught cheating on her boyfriend by her auntie.

Damon knew Elena Gilbert; something was wrong. She should have blushed. Should have stuttered, pushed him away, and muttered something about God and loving Stefan. She should have freaked out, _not_ walked back into the house with a flip of her hair and a clack of her heels.

_Wait. _

Heels.

Elena hadn't been wearing heels.

Damon couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it before. When he'd last seen Elena, she'd been wearing what she'd had on since after the parade- a vest, jeans, and sneakers. Typical Elena garb. Not a leather jacket and heels.

The details all clicked into place at once; and yet, it still seemed like it had taken forever for the truth to finally dawn on him. And as he turned back towards Elena's house, running at full vampire speed, his only thoughts were: _I hope I'm not too late._


	4. Bloodlines: Post Drive Home

He could live another hundred years- and most likely, would- and still, Damon Salvatore would never understand what happened the night before.

_She saved me_, he thought, as he drove down the highway back towards Mystic Falls. _She saved me. _

Elena had been asleep for a while, passing out an hour or so after her little gloating speech.

"_I saved your life." _

"_I know." _

"_And don't you forget it." _

And how could he? He couldn't remember when someone had so valiantly put themselves in danger for him, had begged for his behalf- he couldn't remember the last time anyone would have _needed _to. But most of all…he couldn't remember if anyone _ever_ had. If anyone had ever expressed that they gave a damn if he lived or died. _No, _he decided, _I'll never forget it_.

But he couldn't get the nagging voice out of his head-the naturally suspicious nature that came with being a centuries old vampire. What had- no pun intended- compelled her to save him? For everything he'd done to Elena and her friends, everything he'd put them through…he had no right to be saved. His life shouldn't have meant anything to her. He had been about to be made into a crispy critter, and she had talked down a homicidal vampire to prevent it. It made no sense.

But the why's didn't seem like such a good thing to ask. Something told him it was better to leave it alone. Because knowing the answer would just open up more doors he didn't think he could stand to have opened. Knowing why she gave a damn would only flip the switch another centimeter up, and sooner or later, he'd actually _feel._

In truth, he already did

And he wouldn't allow it.

_I already did this once with a beautiful brunette, and look how that had turned out. _


End file.
